


to a friend whose work has come to triumph

by turtlenecksandsweaters



Category: D.Gray-man, 刀剣乱舞 | Touken Ranbu
Genre: (emotionally and physically), Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Fluff and Angst, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Infrequent Updates, Multi, everyone is hurt a lot, no archive warnings apply (yet), tags to be updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-11-08 16:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtlenecksandsweaters/pseuds/turtlenecksandsweaters
Summary: He remembers flowers. Bellflowers and the lotus, bloody poppies and forget-me-nots. He remembers fire, too. Where they fought wars, they were defeated by mother nature.When the Vatican falls, so do they.In which some are remembered, some are forgotten, and some of them witness.(They don’t quite know how to deal with these new swords.)





	1. the lotus (achilles)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanda Yu and Kashuu Kiyomitsu

Kanda Yu is an enigma unlike any the Citadel has ever seen. He arrives with a crash of lightning and thunder on the horizon, saying nothing more than his name and his maker. By far, he is the youngest sword to be summoned here — his attitude mirrors it as startling and borderline _ childish. _Kanda Yu, a tachi made by Edgar Chang Martin in 1876, is known as one of the holy swords of the Vatican.

(Ironically, he’s also called the Hell Insect Sword.)

Thankfully, it is on the off-chance that he is summoned directly by the Saniwa themself. He holes himself away both physically and emotionally, angered beyond reason or doubt and none of them can tell exactly _ why _ — many swords have had their problems upon arrival, be it simply their past or their growing acclimation to human form, most of the time they have always come around. Kanda Yu is none of those things, and brushes off Kashuu Kiyomitsu where he stands (eager and slightly wary of the new sword), who had been waiting to show him to his quarters and the dining hall.

“I’ll find my own way,” the new sword grunts, only bothering to look down at Kashuu for a second before gliding down the staircase with all the elegance and anger of a very dark ghost. Kashuu thinks of an afternoon sky full of blue when he catches Kanda Yu’s eyes for that momentary action, and wonders, scarcely, why they remind him of something white instead.

Most swords of the Citadel, if not all, are forthcoming and genuine — no one is outright rude and generally, everyone tends to get along well when they can. Kanda Yu doesn’t want anything to do with them, and when he somehow finds his way to the dining hall that evening, he excuses himself quickly to an unoccupied corner table, rude with all the gusto and pomp of some of their old masters and Kashuu thinks, _ He’s entirely too human. _

When Kasen Kanesada leans over to Kashuu, currently in charge of the new sword, and tells him the newcomers name roughly means “gentleness,” Kashuu has to refrain himself from crying at the irony. Oh, if only Yasusada were here to witness this conundrum, at least then maybe Kashuu wouldn’t feel so damn _ irritated. _

Kanda Yu’s first mission comes the day after his arrival, to no other place than Ikedaya Inn. Kashuu assumes Aruji wants him to gain some experience fast when Hasebe reads the team assignment to the group of swords in the yard. 

The team is rather average; Namazuo Toushirou, Kanda Yu, Shishiou, Mitsutada Shoukudaikiri, and Kashuu Kiyomitsu as captain. So many _ almost big _swords going to such a small battlefield would worry Kashuu in any other circumstance, but he had learned trust in Aruji is never without gain — they are always right. 

(Sometimes he wonders how they are always right, before his conscience is relinquished to sleep.)

When Kashuu goes to find him for the mission, he notices for the first time that Kanda Yu’s lounging clothing is painfully simple, consisting of only a black sleeveless turtleneck and tight black pants, a deep red cardigan the last thing, and Kashuu wonders if this borderline feral sword goes unaffected by the cold February air. _ It wouldn’t be too far fetched _, Kashuu thinks, imagining a lopsided snowman with a black twig sticking out of its head to represent the tachi’s ponytail. For some reason, he can’t quite envision the color of the snowman’s eyes, but decides it doesn’t matter.

So he waits outside of the sliding doors to the sword’s room, an extra time pass weighing his hand down where a sword soon will be. Kanda Yu is quick to get ready, and Kashuu doesn’t know if it is out of courtesy or if he is just that fast.

What does matter is that Kanda Yu’s emblem resembles something familiar, the outdated rose cross circling an open lotus upon his chest. Kashuu attempts to ignore the familiarity with the rest of the tachi’s clothing. His uniform is the same color as his lounge clothing, but besides that there is little the same. His coat almost resembles a dress, hanging low below his knees, buttons holding it together on the right side, leading up into a flared collar. Shoulder karuta hang off of both shoulders in worn gold and red, along with two hip plates attached to the belt of his uniform. Matching gold and red armor covers his shins and disappear up under the long coat.

Kashuu offers him the time pass, and Kanda takes it from his hand as if afraid to touch — skin is all too palpable in your first days as a living, breathing being. Kashuu can at least understand that, they all could, and hopes that is alone the reason Kanda shields himself from them. The quiet noise of expensive jewelry catches his attention when Kanda’s hand falls with time pass in hand, red circlets encasing both wrists and looking entirely too large to stay on as easy as they appear to. Kashuu opens his mouth to ask about something _ bloody, _but Kanda is already walking away from him and he has to jog to catch up.

“Hey.”

Kanda doesn’t reply, doesn’t acknowledge Kashuu in any way and the uchigatana wonders, just for a moment, if the sword is deaf before the heated question is squashed. He reaches out and grabs Kanda’s arm. “Hey!”

Finally, Kanda stops walking and turns to Kashuu, hands white and just barely shaking when he pulls the smaller sword’s hand off. Kashuu hardly registers the heathonistic look on Kanda’s face or the snarl maring his lips because if he had noticed his eyes were strange earlier, now they were hurtful intent — time consuming and sharp around the edges, too intense of a blue to belong to any normal human.

Kashuu thinks he is seeing things when they flash white under the veranda.

“What the hell do you want?” He says it like Kashuu is less than the dust on the shelf, or the grim on his boot. White is gone and replaced with malice, and somewhere a small voice in the back of his head reminds him they have a mission to report to, so he starts walking instead this time, knowing damn well the fury in Kanda Yu’s eyes is in his own as well.

“Don’t mess this up.”

~*~

Kanda Yu, in fact, does not mess up. 

The mission goes as well as it can, considering the amount of damage they took each time they left the Citadel, even in spite of the argument it took to get Kanda to listen to Kashuu direct the sortie group.

Something white doesn’t flash across his vision now, nor something malice or cold — just _ death. _ At least, he thinks that's what the tattoo revealed on Kanda’s chest means. The moment Shoukudaikiri Mitsutada looks away from the holy sword’s exposed chest, Kashuu knows he is right and wonders _ why, _why is a holy sword marked with something like that?

Kanda has pulled his left arm from his uniform jacket, and the strap of the tank top worn underneath is left ripped and hung loose as if just to reveal the tattoo to them — it's only job was to keep it covered anyways. 

Kashuu tries not to stare at the tattoo for too long, once tracing the odd 3 shape it makes, the crescent circle around it, and the stretching black wisps leading up to Kanda’s shoulder before averting his eyes. Sky blue is more of an esoteric ocean now, tidal waves against beach rock, kicking up sand with every push and shove. Shishiou is the only one to raise his eye in question, but his voice doesn’t follow, Namazuo to thank for that. 

Well, certainly it couldn’t be some kind of _ curse, _right?

Aruji wouldn’t intentionally summon a sword like that, would they?

Kashuu locks his doubts in a vault deep in the back of his mind, possibly never to be opened again, and instead doubles his pace to walk next to Kanda, and adjusts again when the sword tries to shake him loose. It takes a few minutes, but it’s easy to annoy him into giving in, the uchigatana realizes — okay, so maybe he isn’t _ that _ difficult. Still.

The air between them is silent, save for the drifting conversation of the three behind them, but besides that, the two dark clad swords are silent. 

The pick-up spot looms ahead of them, and Kashuu stops Kanda and himself a few feet away, shooing the others ahead to wait for them. Even with his heels (partially digging in the mud, _ great), _Kashuu is a few inches shorter than Kanda, though that’s not itself surprising. What is surprising is the slight slump in his shoulders. Kashuu equates it to exhaustion.

“You’re all so _ cheerful,” _the accusation sounds like an insult coming from Kanda, but irritation isn’t laced in the way he shifts his weight to one foot, or the crease of his brow, “it’s horrendous.”

Kashuu snorts, hiding his grin in his wrist when Kanda glares down at him and he thinks he and the whole Citadel should have died a hundred deaths by now when faced by Kanda Yu — but they haven’t, and he’s just like them, really, even if he’s more of a secluded jerk than Ookurikara. Stifling his laughter and straightening his shoulders once again, Kashuu grins at Kanda in hopes of maybe a _ twitch _in return, but doesn’t get the desired effect. (Okay, maybe next time.)

Kashuu doesn’t miss the way Kanda’s eyes follow his line of sight to the other three in their sortie. It had been a rather good group.

“You get used to it,” and you do.

…

“She looked over his shoulder

For vines and olive trees,

Marble well-governed cities

And ships upon untamed seas,

But there on the shining metal

His hands had put instead

An artificial wilderness

And a sky like lead.”

— _ The Shield of Achilles, _W. H. Auden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy another icarus inspired fic title 😳 anyways, to clarify: there will be poems/parts of poems at the end of each chapter based on different literature and historical figures who i’ve assigned to the dgm characters — kanda is achilles. for funsies!
> 
> hopefully i’ll be better about updating this fic considering i’m already rewriting allen’s chapter and partially through lenalee’s chapter, so, yay! this is my first time writing touken ranbu please be nice 
> 
> kudos and comments are appreciated!


	2. a poppy (icarus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allen Walker and Ishikirimaru

Ishikirimaru stutters knowing he is the only one suspicious of the scarred white sword, but because of that he is the first to know.

They are alike in that they both see the cavities and empty bodies in pictures. They are rotting holes in the back of the minds of those who know, and Ishikirimaru _ worries, _because Allen Walker hasn’t been here a week, and he hardly had his own room when he was sent out to battle. Kanda Yu, sent out on his second day, and Allen Walker on his first — Ishikirimaru knows there are at least two other Vatican swords, would they be sent out so quickly, too? For what reason did their master have, to send such new swords out so soon? There is no amount of shortage of manpower in the citadel, and all of them are ready for their orders.

But the Vatican swords already have their master’s graces, or at least their interest. 

Upon Allen Walker’s arrival to the citadel, there had been a..commotion, to say lightly. Kanda Yu was not the first to find out about the sword’s appearance, but had quite the reaction. A fight ensued between the two, all name-calling and fists flying, their swords forgotten where they lay. The fight itself doesn’t last very long, the two evenly matched to the point nothing really _ happens, _and when it is finally over, the two are on their knees with a red-faced Heshikiri Hasebe standing over them, yelling about how inappropriate it is to fight outside of the dojo or battlefield, the importance of their cooperation — everything he could find wrong with it.

As it turns out, the animosity between the two is nothing more than their own friendly banter.

(It takes all of two days of yelling and scrambling feet for the citadel to grow used to the pair.)

Ishikirimaru comes upon Allen Walker outside of his new room, his legs dangling over the veranda ledge. Inwardly, the oodachi is glad he brought an extra tea cup with him. “Mind if I join you?”

Allen Walker’s head of white snaps up, startled in a way that Ishikirimaru thinks perhaps he hadn’t heard him approach. Red twists uncomfortably when the Vatican sword offers him a smile and scoots away unnecessarily. Ishikirimaru has done nothing to prepare himself against the curse of that mangled star upon the toe-heads face, and steels himself to merely meet silver.

“Of course,” his words trail off continuously, and the sense of words whisked away by the wind washes over Ishikirimaru. He ignores the loss and sits down, placing the tea tray between them.

Allen Walker’s shoulders are rigid at their close proximity, and Ishikirimaru knows the tea would be calming if the Vatican sword knew not of his divine status. One of divinities does not acquaintance themself with a cursed sword willingly. They both know that all too well — even hell beasts could fall from grace and still think of themselves as angels.

“Imonotsurugi tells me you were apprehensive of your first fight, understandably so — being sent into battle on your first day isn’t a common occurrence here,” Ishikirimaru offers, daring only to glance at the mask covering the unique looking boy’s face. No one could reasonably smile that much, quite that sincerely, even just resting. To be honest, it’s more off-putting than kindly when you know that what lies beneath may not be at all what is shown on the surface.

Allen Walker laughs into his tea cup, carefully setting it down when he almost spills it. “No, no— that’s not it,” another chuckle escapes him, “I’m quite accustomed to battle and the human body.”

Ishikirimaru turns to face him fully, eyebrows quirked upwards in something he thinks might be surprise — oh, if only Tsurumaru had managed to spike that emotion in his heart, instead it is just a newcomer too polite and too full of contradictions to be real. 

(Ishikirimaru is starting to notice a pattern, as both the Vatican’s holy swords are cursed, the realization ebs away prejudice and instead roots doubt in his heart.)

“It has been said my sword was unable to hurt humans, that which is not evil,” he explains, but it really isn’t an explanation when all it does is _ worry _the oodachi.

The question falls from his lips before he can think over whether it was real or not. “Is that true?”

“Not at all.”

“You faced Kebiishi your first mission,” Ishikirimaru states, setting his now empty cup next to Allen’s mostly full one; “That curse of yours showed you what they really are, did it not?”

Allen blanches then, hands slipping off their perch on his own knees in haste to allow him to turn to Ishikirimaru. Bending the leg closest to the oodachi under the other still hanging over the edge, he leans over the plated teapot, steam still rising despite how long it has been since the water was heated. His face doesn’t reveal anger, or anything of the sort — just surprise, for the second time that hour. Tsurumaru would be _ wailing. _ The thing contained within the sword named after a long forgotten gravestone snarls, bares its teeth, just not at anyone in particular (not that there were many there for it _ to _be directed at). It seeps through to his appearance, silver eyes suddenly more black than white, and a red scar pulling at skin as though it weren’t yet healed.

(The swords appearance is made from their memories, Ishikirimaru wonders what kind of memory might leave something quite like that.)

Ishikirimaru acts before the other has the chance to, grabbing a muscular forearm much too tightly, but it doesn’t _ matter, _not when the threat of something so familiar buzzes through the air between them. It would not be a difficult task, should he have to stop Allen Walker — he is too new, too young, and Ishikirimaru is easily one of the eldest swords of the Citadel. Should the need arise, the holy sword would be well prepared.

(Distantly, he wonders if Kanda Yu knows of the beast lurking within, and remembers a rather backhanded remark thrown around in their tussle that _ yes, he knew, and he would not hesitate to strike down his friend.) _

Ishikirimaru gets the sense that Allen _ understands, _ of all things, his conviction. He is a divine sword, after all, a level above the cursed Vatican swords that just _ wasn’t _obtainable in their current situation. Black returns to silver, the absence of light the explanation when Allen nods and that perfectly practised grin is upon his face again, leaning into the sun falling upon them despite the overhang.

When Ishikirimaru stands, it is with a deep sweeping motion of green and grey fabric, rustling against hidden skin. He takes the plate up with him, towering above Allen, though it does not deter the smile on the other’s lips. It had been melancholy at first, now it just screamed cold intent. It’s unnerving. Ishikirimaru sighs, for the youngest sword of them to—

“Don’t share your knowledge. It’s better that only a few of us know,” he finds himself saying, though he already knows Allen won’t go spreading the information. It’s better they two know and not someone else, some sword not quite as restrained, not as _ wholly. _Would it not cause them to dishearten?

White hair rustles, and Allen jumps into a stand, looking up at Ishikirimaru and nodding.

“Kanda should be back now, thank you for having tea with me,” Allen bows much more deeply than necessary, springing back up and swirling around the brunette in a way that resembled a ghost passing right through your chest.

Ishikirimaru decides that perhaps the Vatican swords are the strangest to grace this Citadel yet.

~*~

Scars are markings created by memories, for swords like them. Doudanuki Masakuni has many, Ichigo Hitofuri’s back is covered with burns like Namazuo and Honebami — scars are not an inherently _ odd _ thing for the swords given human form. It is odd, rather, when the scars cause _ problems. _It is Allen Walker’s third sortie, and his eye bleeds red. It does not stop him from crashing down upon an enemy tachi, though, that white feathered cape of his an avalanche of snow and thunder with each movement, shrouding the darkness of his clothing beneath. It is easy to get lost watching that clawed left hand of his, short spikes of gold encasing finger tips, stop the oncoming sword in its track to allow instead for his own blade to slice through bone and sinew, releasing the enemy of the cursed appendage.

By the end of this battle, Allen Walker does not sport any new scars, most of the blood coating his cloak that of the enemy, but the red blanket cascading from his eye covers the half of his face below it, the tips of his hair soaked in it and he has been forced to shut his eye to try and staunch the bleeding.

Yagen Toushirou practically _ demands _they return that second, hands on Allen’s face and turning him side to side to examine the damage.

Ishikirimaru would laugh, if the pentagram on their friend’s forehead was not also oozing deep red. Even though Allen protests that he is fine, he leans against his larger than life sword for support, and Yagen is not the only one in their group to verbally accuse him of such blatant derailment. The mission is done, they are no longer needed here, so they leave swiftly, a pull against their chest the final sensation before landing in the familiar courtyard of the Citadel in a display of bright lights and warm air. 

Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki claps Allen on the shoulder, and the snowy man almost falls despite his own strength.

That alone is enough for Ishikirimaru to go seeking explanation when Yagen drags Allen off to his office for repairs. He follows silently, watching the two contrasting swords before him as Allen allows himself to lean against Yagen slightly, his hand on the tantou’s shoulder of the arm that presses against his back and urges him towards where all his medical supplies are. They arrive without problem, only a few curious glances passed their way with Ishikirimaru to receive them.

Yagen is not so gentle in practically shoving Allen down onto the exam table, turning away to the nearest shelf for bandages and Ishikirimaru knows to stay out of the way — at least for now, the others in their sortie should be stopping by soon for some bandages or ointment, none of them hurt too badly. Excluding Allen, apparently.

It’s a sort of calming ease to watch Yagen at work, small hands easily wrapping bandages around Allen’s forehead to at least slow that bleeding star on his face. Ishikirimaru, despite his own healing abilities, decides to keep his distance for Allen’s benefit. 

It is not until Yagen pins the white fabric down does he start questioning Allen, inches from his face to clean the blood covering his cheek.

“Did you get hit?” The fact that a hit couldn’t have opened a scar that old goes unsaid. Yagen continues, ignoring Ishikirimaru’s prodding.

“No,” Allen sighs, closing his right eye as well and when he opens both, the blood flow has ceased, though the white of his left eye is red and unseeing for the moment. Yagen leans away, looking from Ishikirimaru and back to Allen.

It suddenly occurs to Ishikirimaru he doesn’t know exactly what kind of curse his fellow sword is placed under, nor what shape that star upon his face truly is. Allen answers the unspoken question when he takes a wet cloth from Yagen and the tantou sits at his desk just to the left of the sword.

“This curse of mine is the opposite of the human body, you remember what I told you before, don’t you?”

And he does, Ishikirimaru mimics it back. “That you were said to not have the ability to harm humans nor that which is not evil.”

Allen nods, glancing out the open doorway Ishikirimaru stands in at a passing sword, one he doesn’t think the toe-head recognizes. “I can only assume something that represents the opposite of human would not take well to being forced into a human body.”

That is all Allen Walker says before Kanda Yu is barging into the room, radiating some kind of worry mutilated with anger and an insult on the tip of his tongue — the liveliness the Citadel has come to associate the two with filling up the office and Ishikirimaru is certain they’d be at each others throats and pulling one another’s hair if not for Yagen separating the two. Rather belatedly, Kanda Yu is the one to inspect Allen’s sword for cracks, and Ishikirimaru excuses himself with a smile.

…

“It was

a long

long

fall.

But as he neared the ocean,

came close enough to wave to the startled fishermen in their boats,

he laughed,

and admitted

that even had he known

of the many failings of fathers and feathers,

he would have done it anyway.”

— _ Icarus, _Wendy A. Shaffer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can y’all tell i didn’t know how to end it 😳  
i had fun writing allen as a cursed sword! i also just like writing allen and kanda at each other’s throat, despite the recent character development. anyways, in this, allen’s scar is an upside down tetragrammaton, which represents the opposite of the human body! fun!


End file.
